As Life Would Go On
by Clarenova
Summary: Estel lived life, and Elrond's household lived right alongside him. The story of Estel's life, and its effects on the rest of Rivendell.
1. Progression

::Progression:: 

Disclaimer: Whatever belongs to Tolkien belongs to him. 

A/N: Seeing as to that most of my Lord of the Rings fics were either flops or humour, I decided that, for a change, I would write a serious one. So here you have it, Aragorn's life story, from Estel to Elessar, coupled together with the slight history of the house of Elrond. Slightly AU and quite out of cannon, though, to give you prior warning. The story will be pretty long, as there will be considerably number of chapters progressing for each stage of Aragorn's life. Enjoy! *Update!* Another update, major changes in first two chapters... 

*Second update!* As to AfterEver's tips, I'm changing both chapters! Sorry if it seems really out of cannon and lame, but I never really got a hang of creativity and I'm only twelve! Ah well, you live, you learn. Thanks, AfterEver, I'll try to redo it, especially after re-reading the appendixes again. *whacks head with the Return of the King* 

* 

Somewhere in Minas Tirith, Gilraen the Fair, wife to Arathorn, turned uneasily in her sleep and unconsciously clutched her two year old son, Aragorn, closer to her breast protectively. Something was afoot. 

* 

'Elladan!' 

Somewhere through the raging mass of fighting orcs, men and elves, Elladan heard the voice of his twin, Elrohir, rising above the chaos. There was distress in that voice. As Elladan hewed off the head of the last of the orcs that had ambushed and raided them, he shouted back. 

'Elrohir?' 

He saw his identical twin weave his way through the carnage to him. Panting from exertion and the suddenness of the attack, Elrohir placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder and stopped to catch his breath. Elladan could see unrest in those grey eyes as he helped to steady his brother. Bowing his head, Elrohir muttered softly. 

'Arathorn is slain, hit through the eye by an orc shaft. There was nothing he or I could do.' 

* 

Elladan and Elrohir together with the small small company of elves and men went to Minas Tirith to bring Gilraen and Aragorn to Rivendell. The lady was distraught at the news, but stayed strong as she hugged Aragorn closer to her. 

'Then the foresight of Ivorwen was true. The life of Aragorn was short-lived indeed. To Rivendell, as all the heirs of Isildur have gone, Aragorn must go. Come.' 

So the strong Lady Gilraen was not conquered in the darkness of the loss of her husband, but instead stood strong for young Aragorn, two years and innocent still to the world, hunted as the last living Heir to Isildur. The Sons of Elrond marvelled at her courage, and brought her in honour back to their father. 

* 

Upon arriving, Gilraen, still holding Aragorn protectively against her, was shown to Elrond's study. Aragorn, small, tired from the long journey, yawned sleepily and he snuggled closer, oblivious to the world around him and the danger of being who he was. Elrond rose from his place at the table in welcoming. 

'Rivendell welcomes you and your son, Lady Gilraen.' 

Gilraen nodded mutely, her face haggard from the long journey, and lines of sorrow were left clear on her once joyful face as she sat in one of the ornately carved chairs. Elrond shifted uncomfortably in his own seat, trying to be as sympathetic as possible towards her. Gently, he went on. 

'I know that these times are filled with grief for you, lady, but I implore you to understand what I have to say. Young Aragorn is the last hope of the Dunedain. It is of great importance that he be concealed from the evils of Arda and kept safe. I put forth this proposal to you: Let Aragorn stay here in Rivendell, as many others have done before him, unknowing of his lineage until he grows of an age better suited to him understanding. Here he will be safe, trained well and educated in the ways of his people. Whence he comes of age, he shall be told of his ancestry, and given his due right. What say you?' 

Gilraen nodded again, knowing the council of Elrond to be wise. 

'Do as you wish, Elrond Peredhil, but of you I have one wish.' 

'Speak, and I give you my word I shall try to my best to grant you it.' 

'Take Aragorn as your own son, and love him as he cannot now be loved by his own father. In Imladris I shall stay, wish your consent. I love him more than Arda itself.' 

'As you wish. And so from now Aragorn ceases to exist, for there only is Estel: Hope, for hope for the Dunedain and hope for the future of Men.' 

* 

Two years on... 

* 

'Ada!' 

'_No_, Estel, you come back here right now!' 

'Ada!' 

'Quick! Catch him Elrohi-! Ai Elbereth, _no_, Estel!' 

'Ada!' 

'Glorfindel! Watch out for-!' 

'Estel!' 

'Oh Eru, my shirt.' 

Bemused by the commotion coming from outside his library, Elrond stepped out. His jaw dropped at the sight that greeted him. A very muddy Estel, grinning happily, had crashed into Glorfindel, causing the elf to fall, sprawling, onto the floor, muddied, whilst two very disgruntled elves, namely Elladan and Elrohir, followed up closely, also muddy with filth. An eyebrow immediately raised itself. Glorfindel let his head fall to the floor in defeat, letting the young human clamber up his chest and bounce up and down. Elrond pretended that he did not notice his friend's (once) white tunic. Elrohir buried his head into a hand, groaning. 

'Sorry, Ada, but we couldn't catch him fast enough. Estel has great speed on the ground, though his ability on the trees is less than perfect.' 

There Elrohir grinned at Estel at the memory, of which Estel stuck his tongue out at. Elrond eyed him disapprovingly, but had to wipe it off his face in case he should smile instead. He would not bring upon himself the wrath of Glorfindel, wanting to fare better than the balrog did. 

Grinning, Estel raised a fist, of which was clenched around a (battered) daffodil, of which Elrond had introduced to him a few days before during his lessons. 

'Look, Ada! Isn't it pretty!' 

Laughing, Elrond nodded. 

'Yes, yes, Estel. But I think you should get up, or Glorfindel might do something horrible to you.' 

'But Glorfy is _fun_ to jump on!' 

Glorfindel was still being trampled underneath Estel, groaning at the human child to get off his chest. Erestor, who walked out of the library also, wore a grin on his face, whistling as he walked off, acting the fool. Glorfindel growled at him as the chief advisor to Elrond tried to hide a snigger at the blond-mud hair of his friend. 

'Don't you dare play stupid with me, Erestor!' 

Estel, to Glorfindel's relief, stopped bouncing when he heard Erestor's name. 

''Stor!' 

Glorfindel got up and wore his own smug smirk on his face as Estel ran over and clung to Erestor's leg, muddying him too. Estel sat, still bedaubed in filth, as Elrond tried to get him to pronounce the names of all of his foster brothers and the family friends correctly. Pointing to Glorfindel, the said slowly and deliberately. 

'Glor-fin-del. Say it after me, Estel.' 

'Glorfyendell?' 

The blond elf choked at the name, only serving to choke on the slush that Estel had helpfully slopped onto his head. Erestor grinned along with Elladan and Elrohir, laughing at the Eldar. Ignoring them, Elrond pointed to Elladan. 

'El-la-dan. Try that, Estel.' 

'El-dan?' 

'El-ro-hir. Try Elrohir.' 

'El'hir?' 

'Ere-stor...?' 

'E'stor!' 

By the time the session was over, Elrond was shaking in mirth and raised his hand in welcome as Gilraen walked over, half amused and half appalled at her son's state. Ruffling the confused Estel's hair, he shook his head. 

'Never mind, ninion, stick with your nicknames.' 

Grinning, Estel babbled on. 

'Glorfy! 'Ladan! 'Rohir! 'Stor!' 

It was hard to believe the happy child was heir to a kingdom; he was so carefree and young. Elrond shook his head. Estel would have a future difficult to predict. For now, though, he would settle for watching him try, and fail, to braid Glorfindel's hair as Gilraen tried to drag him off to the bath. Then, the "Tree Memory" came back to him...   



	2. Fitting In

::Fitting In:: 

Disclaimer: See Chapter One. 

A/N: Second edition. 

* 

Estel scrunched up his face in concentration as he eyed his target. Their mocking laughter still rang in his eyes, stinging more than his scraped knees did. Starting with a standing run, Estel tried desperately to scramble up the tall tree in front of him, wishing he had the agility and litheness of the other elflings. After pelting up the first few branches in a very helter-skelterish manner, Estel slowed, exerting as much force and strength as he possessed to haul himself up to the uppermost branches of the tree, where all of his so called friends were. A young brunette called Emuilen jeered openly at him, conversing with his friends in a mock stage whisper. 

'See that useless human? He can't even climb a tree properly! It's a wonder that Elrond even bothers with him.' 

The others laughed at Estel with Emuilen. Spurred on by the effect, the elfling went on. 

'I bet you his family thinks he's useless too! Useless! Useless!' 

By then, Estel had unshed tears brimming in his grey eyes, trying valiantly to defend himself against their verbal sparring. 

'Am not!' 

'Are too!' 

Estel knew his argument was weak, and he could not help but feel a flicker of doubt spring up inside his heart. Did Elladan and Elrohir really think him useless? Maybe he was slightly slower in foot and lesser in hand than others, but he never really found it as much a fault as he did now. Maybe Elrond did not love him. The others only laughed at him as silent tears fell from his eyes, jeering and criticizing every difference and fault they could find in him. Loosing his concentration, and not being gifted with the natural balance and grace of the Elves, Estel lost his footing, eliciting a surprised cry of despair as he fell backwards off the tree. This caused the elves to stop laughing, as they stared, wide eyed, at the falling figure. So obsessed were they in watching Estel fall that they neglected to eye the figures _underneath_ the tree. With a soft thud and a crash, together with cries of alarm and shock, Estel fell onto Glorfindel and Erestor. The black haired advisor and his blond haired companion felt the ominous presence of Estel only when he crashed straight onto them. 

* 

Elrond stared. The three that lay sprawled before him were all in sorry states. All he had wanted to do was take a quiet stroll and think, and instead he stumbled onto his crying foster son and two of his advisors half crushed to death underneath him. Estel's tear stained face was wrought with nervous worry as he glanced from Erestor, who had resigned himself to staring up at the sky, Glorfindel, who was sprawled on his side, drumming his fingers on the ground and waiting for an explanation with a raised brow, Elrond, who wore a raised eyebrow and the elflings who were cowering above him. Stammering in fear, Estel tried to explain. 

'S-sorry, Ada...' 

Elrond looked shocked and felt more than a little confused at the reaction. His foster son looked ready to recoil from him. He had expected differently. Ignoring his friends on the floor, the lord of Imladris picked the young boy up. Estel tried to struggle. Elrond, now thoroughly confused, muttered words of reassurance, asking him the matter. 

'What's wrong, Estel?' 

With teary eyes, Estel began to explain. 

'E-emuilen said that I was useless and that you... you didn't want me anymore.' 

Elrond's face went in an immediate transference from shocked to angered. Estel immediately misinterpreted the change and started to struggle again. Elrond's eyes darted to the elflings in the tree for a moment before directing his attention back to Estel. 

'Shh... Now, don't you believe a word that they say, do you hear me, Estel? Ada loves you dearly, and always will.' 

Estel brought his watery eyes up to Elrond. 

'Really?' 

Smiling, Elrond laughed as he jiggled Estel up and down for a moment. 

'Really. Now go find Elladan and Elrohir and get them to help you clean up.' 

Elrond settled the boy on the ground and he happily scampered on towards his brother's bedchambers. Emuilen and gang chose that moment to try and sneak off, but Elrond had long seen it coming. Turning around with a dreadful look in his eyes and pulling his two friends up, Elrond spoke in a commanding voice, causing the elflings to freeze and whimper in trepidation. Glorfindel and Erestor were dusting themselves off, looking rather angry at the prejudice against Estel of which they had just heard. 

'Don't you dare try and run, Emuilen! I wish to speak to you. _All_ of you.' 

One had to pity the elflings. With Elrond, in his magenta robes and danger in his eyes, Glorfindel, tall, proud and albeit slightly dusty, drawn up next to him, and Erestor, with his sharp features, black hair and pointedly nasty looks all towering above them, the experience was definitely not one they were going to forget any time soon. And the lecture had not even begun yet. 

* 

Estel, slightly reassured though he was, grew frightened as he approached his brother's chambers. His Ada might verily well still love him, but would his brothers? The cuts on his arms and legs stung as he tried to block out the heartless words and the mental rejection. _Useless, useless!_ Knocking on the door softly, Estel waited for either Elladan or Elrohir to open up. Standing there, though, he could not help but feel as if Emuilen was right. Estel took a look at the large, still unopened door hesitantly before he turned and ran off, tears welling up in his eyes. They were probably right. He was, after all, only _edain_. His brothers would never appreciate him. He was so young, so useless, with so much lacking in agility and confidence as compared to the others. _Useless, just plain useless. _Edain. Only _Edain._

* 

Elladan flung the door open, staring out into nothing. Elrohir came up behind him. 

'What was that, ElLadan?' 

Furrowing his brow in slight confusion, Elladan took a final look out of the door before shrugging and closing it. 

'Nothing, ElRohir, though I swear I heard somebody knock on the door.' 

'Don't dwell on it, then, quick, come on and help me get this present ready for Estel's birthday next week.' 

'Fine. Wait, did you just paint it red?' 

'Yes.' 

'But it was supposed to be _blue!'_

'Red, brother, unless you are colour blind, it was supposed to be _red_.' 

'Blue!' 

'Red!' 

'Ai, shut your mouth and just get on with it.'   
  



	3. Planning

::Friendship:: 

Disclaimer: Chapter One. 

* 

Estel ran, faster than he thought he could have possibly run, towards to the gardens, where the plants and trees provided ample hiding place for his small form. Unfortunately, the human boy, not looking as his wallowed in his own world of self pity, rammed straight into Emuilen. The elfling looked shocked and a bit pale as he gazed up at Estel, who had immediately sprang back from him upon contact. Shuffling, his usual exuberant and outgoing attitude discarded, Emuilen looked sheepishly up at Estel as he stood. Estel looked oddly at him. Emuilen stammered slightly as he tried to speak while not looking Estel in the eye. 

'Estel, I... I suppose that me... My friends and I were wrong... wrong to provoke you. I... I'm sorry.' 

Estel looked at him in surprise, watching as Emuilen squirmed under his gaze. A soft smile broke over his features. 

'Yes, I forgive you. Let's just be friends.' 

Emuilen, who had been expecting rejection, looked up, a bit hesitant to believe he was pardoned until he saw the genuine look of compassion on Estel's face. 

_Lord Elrond was right. "The race of Edain is only so bad as we make them to be, evil only when misguided, but true to heart." Maybe easily swayed, but with a compassion like this...? Let us be friends!___

Smiling, Emuilen laughed along with Estel as they went off together to have some fun of their own. The two became fast friends. 

* 

A Day Later... 

* 

Elladan smiled appreciatively as he clapped his brother on the back, eyeing the finished product on the table. 

'I suppose your colour taste was not that foul after all!' 

'Not foul? In comparison to yours?' 

'Leave you banter, brother.' 

'Why so?' 

'You know you will loose.' 

Elrohir gave Elladan a friendly punch on the shoulder, of which his twin veered away from as he gazed at Elrohir's paint smeared fingers in distaste. 

'Touch me not with you paint soaked hands! I happen to like this tunic!' 

'Fine, but you speak for yourself! Then let's wash up before Glorfindel the Ever-Neat comes screaming at us for being messy.' 

As the twins walked away with their brushes and palettes to the washrooms, they let their newly finished paint job dry. Upon the desk was a row of soldiers, a small fortune of colourful blocks and even the odd catapult, all painted in various hews and shades, each and every piece of woodwork hand carved and exquisite, waiting for Estel's birthday to arrive. The twins were soon back, and the paints dried off quickly enough. Instead of quarrelling over paint, they amused themselves by bickering over how to wrap their present. How they managed to finish the job, only Eru knew. 

* 

Estel was amazed. His _ada _seemingly had planned an entire day of activities for him and his brothers. A whole _day_. Only one thing puzzled him, as he left with his family to head over to the Bruinen for a picnic and to fish: Why Glorfindel and Erestor were seemingly quarrelling over a bunch of pink streamers. Estel shrugged nonchalantly, clutching his _ada's_ hand and swinging it as he laughed at a squirrel chase another up a tree. It had to be an elf-lord thing. 

It was a perfect day. 

So perfect and so caught up in his happiness, Estel completely forgot one thing. 

It was his birthday.   



	4. Celebration

::Surprises:: 

Disclaimer: Chapter One. 

* 

Estel felt elated and a steady humm of happiness coursed through his veins, pulsing within him and giving him a feeling of warmth and fulfilment that had long been absent from his life. Swinging Elrohir's hand back and forth, the three brothers conversed on how they were going to cook the small hoard of fish that they had managed to ensnare from the Bruinen. Elladan's opinion was favouring baking, whilst Elrohir preferred the steamed approach. Estel wanted it grilled. Elrond smiled as he carried the line of fish, leading the way back to the Last Homely House east of the Sea. 

* 

As Estel was just about to voice his opinion on just how bad a steamed fish would taste, his voice died in his throat. The Imladris that he had left was definitely not the Imladris that was before him right then. Estel's room had been decorated in all different forms of adornment, from the finest, most delicate trinkets to bold streams of coloured stars that flapped on cloth streamers hanging from the ceiling. Elrond led his stunned foster-son into the room which was filled with the Household's closest friends as the boy finally realized what the date was as Lindir broke into a traditional birthday song, aided by Erestor and Glorfindel. The boy knew in that instant as his foster father leant down to him that this was where he belonged. Elrond whispered quietly into his ear, 

'Happy birthday, Estel.' 

* 

The room was alight with merriment as the cake was dished out amongst the seven there. The party was a small, private one, but lacked nothing in terms of joy. Elladan and Elrohir had thought it amusing to smash Glorfindel in the face with his piece of cake as a repayment for all the homework they had to do when they were elflings, causing the golden haired eldar's face to be smeared with cream. Lindir had unwisely laughed aloud, causing an napkin to be stuffed into his mouth by an irate balrog killer. Finally the gift giving came. From Elrond came a book of elvish children's tales, converted partially into the common tongue. It would couple as a textbook to help teach Estel both the language of the Elves and Common Speech, as well as provide entertainment. From Lindir came a set of pipes, with sounds clearer than crystal bells, and the promise to teach Estel how to play them. Erestor gave him set of coloured leads and parchments for drawing. The twins presented their full battle-set, which delighted the mortal boy to no end, and finally Glorfindel gave him a well crafted silver-gold brooch, knowing that Estel regularly went through less well-made cloak clasps quite quickly. The insignia was one of a golden flower. Estel would never know of its age until much later, when the wears of the world would bring him more sorrow than the happy child could then contemplate. For now, though, the moment was all that existed to him. 


	5. Ties of Kin

::Ties of Kin::  
  
Disclaimer: It's all Tolkien's.  
  
A/N: I thought for quite a long while of abandoning this story, but this little bunny bit me, and I've decided to go on with it. I do not really feel all that happy with this chapter, but I suppose it will have to do.  
  
*  
  
As Elrond looked upon his son, _foster son, _he reprimanded himself quickly, he felt something twinge in his heart, maybe even in the back of his mind, a memory, a fleeting instinct in an instant. Dark hair and grey eyes, almost Noldorian in his looks even at such a young age, almost a mirror of a visage that long perished from the face of this earth, almost risen from the dead. Innocent eyes that would glint in firelight, revealing maybe a small hint of a wisdom not yet fully nurtured, and small, harmless hands reflecting those of healing, and if Elrond concentrated, almost as scarred and aged as his. Young lips curled in a peaceful smile, ignorant to the world around it, joyful yet at the same time incurably sad, a curse placed on shoulders so alike to his it almost hurt. Like someone raised from the dead, an image so different yet so alike. A mortal soul, a flickering candle that struggled through guttering wind only to fade, diminished with the aeons of time that Elrond had to endure.   
  
Unable to keep his rampant emotions in check, Elrond Peredhel staggered out of the sleeping Estel's room, lurching, almost drunk, for his private gardens that no one dared infringe upon. Something in the mortal face of his youngest son reminded him so much of a part of him forever departed from the shores of Arda, a piece of him torn away, leaving him alone and empty in a world with a family that he never knew, parted beyond the edges of Middle Earth into a darkness to which he could not follow. Almost like a twin image, whenever Elrond looked into the mirror, a twin image so like him, just happier but greying, fading, ageing with time before withering away, an image that would not be seen ever again. Almost Elros, in a way that no other Numenorian had been able to equal, not even his own sons. Elrond wanted, for the first time in a long while, to cry. To cry for all the injustices in this earth inflicted by a force that even he could not fathom, to cry for his duty, for his family's duty that tore them apart, for choices, for time, for age, for everything.   
  
In the depths of his foster son, Elrond knew that he was looking at himself, looking at a self that he wanted to be able to create, to mould, to make happy. Elrond knew that Estel's path was one akin to his own, riddled with blood and misery, a duty and a mission that he wished upon no one. Elrond wanted to clutch at Estel, young Estel, oblivious Estel, to keep him away from himself, away from the horrors of the world that he had to face at that young an age. So at last, in the privacy of his own gardens, Elrond cried, and he could not stop, fear and loneliness from ages long past, haunting memories from the dead, from Adar to Amme, from Elros to Ereinion, from Celebrian, from Lindon and from Beleriand, from everything. But for more than anything, Elrond cried for Estel.  
  
*  
  
Glorfindel frowned. It was early yet, and Estel, young boy of seven as he was, was in bed as usual, but Elrond was nowhere to be found. It was barely past nine off the clock, but the Lord of Rivendell, who was supposed to be going over reports with him, was missing. Not in his beloved library, nor his study, nor with Erestor or any of his other councillors. The golden haired elda furrowed his brow in confusion as he strode purposefully to Estel's rooms, his hand still clutching a stack of parchment that he had brought from his study unconsciously. It was not like Elrond to be anything other than punctual. Cracking the door open just an inch, the balrog slayer only found a peacefully sleeping _edain_ child with no elf lord anywhere in sight. Shutting the door silently, Glorfindel sighed and admitted defeat. Walking a rather longer route than was necessary back to his study, Glorfindel idly flipped through the documents, though not really reading them in the dim light provided by the candles lighted in the corridors.  
  
Then, just as he was about to turn into his rooms, a noise caught his attention. A sniffling noise, slightly muffled, almost like an elf crying. Glorfindel felt something was dreadfully amiss. There were no other rooms near his other than Erestor's and Lindir's, both of whom, Glorfindel knew, were not within their chambers this night. Other than the private areas, there was only one other place near here that was not corridor and walkway, and that was Elrond's private gardens. Documents completely forgotten, Glorfindel turned away from his door and moved into the gardens.   
  
As Elrond's trusted advisor, friend and chief of the Imladris guard, Glorfindel knew that he was privileged enough to prowl in Elrond's gardens, which were strictly off bounds to the general population of Imladris. The only people who dared to enter were Elrond himself, Erestor, Elrond's children and himself. All others were expelled with a mouthful of reprimands and an angry elf lord. Turning past an outcrop of rose bushes, Glorfindel came upon a sight that he had never seen before save once in his entire service to Elrond. The elf was crying.   
  
Dropping his papers to the ground, oblivious to the fact that they scattered about the grass and loam, Glorfindel knelt by his sworn lord's side. Elrond turned his head to look at his seneschal, and croaked in a hoarse voice, 'What are you doing here?'  
  
Glorfindel pulled Elrond up, supporting the peredhel with his own body.   
  
'What do you think, peredhel? To discuss the reports, of course.' he said softly.   
  
Elrond snorted through his miser, but merely slumped back down, boneless against his friend. Tears were streaming down his face, but the lord seemed unaware of it as he glanced up at the sky.   
  
'Earendil shines bright this night, Glor.'  
  
Glorfindel did not need to look up to know that, wordlessly walking Elrond to a stone bench and seating both of them down. Elrond turned to come face to face with a concerned friend and a furrowed brow. Sighing, he took the effort to wipe away the moisture from his cheeks and threw his head back. Quietly, he commented, 'Do you know what day it is, Glor?'  
  
Glorfindel just shook his head, knowing that all Elrond needed at the moment was support.  
  
'It's the day that Elros died, Glor.'  
  
Although his face did not show it, Glorfindel's insides lurched. Elrond had always been reclusive on this date, but the attitude had faded over the years until Estel came to the House. Somehow, Estel managed to drag up memories of Elros that none of the other Dunedain that had come to be fostered in Elrond's house did, just as he had managed to form a bond with Elrond that none of them had. Since then, Elrond had become moodier and emotional on the day his twin left Arda, and few dared to meddle with his temper then. Glorfindel silently cursed himself for forgetting. Elrond continued.  
  
'You know, Glor, that Estel looks more like Elros than any of the others ever have? He reminds me so much of him that I would swear that he just came back from the dead.'  
  
Glorfindel said nothing.  
  
'He is innocent, Glor. He does not deserve this fate, not this madness that will be inflicted upon him, not this burden. But Elros would have been proud, to know that even now the line of Kings is still alive, however threadbare it is.'  
  
'Elros is gone, Elrond. He isn't coming back.'  
  
Glorfindel's voice was quiet, but it spoke volumes. Elrond stopped his tirade and turned to glare at his friend. Anger blossomed over his features for a moment, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words emerged. Taking heart, Glorfindel went on.  
  
'Whatever way fate will bear him, Estel will have to bear his lineage, his duty. Just like you have. The line that your blood follows is riddled with sorrow, Elrond, but at these moments in the darkest of times is when the line of Earendil shows the most courage. Your family has had its share of misery much embedded in the history of these ages, but you cannot hide from it, Elrond. Not then, not _now_. He needs you, Elrond, just like you need him. When age comes upon him and tears him away just like it took Elros, he will still need you, because you will tie him to his blood, even as he is the last tie to your brother. However you will deny it, the path that Estel has to bear is _Aragorn's_, not Estel's, for he is not your son by kin, not for you to hide and protect. Elros died for a cause, and you live for one. You have to let him go.'  
  
Glorfindel had crossed the line, and the elda knew it. Elrond stared at his friend, a lifetime of misery and hatred bubbling to the surface, and felt at a loss, unable to contemplate what was going on. For a long while, Elrond felt violent emotions war within him, and for a fleeting instant, all he wanted to do was backhand Glorfindel. But as azure eyes bore into his own, Elrond found that all he could do was close his eyes and cry. Something inside him broke, some link to the past broke, and all his bottled emotions cracked a glass casing of millennia, and for a while, Elros was laid to rest, and Elrond cried onto Glorfindel's shoulder.   
  
So even in the darkest of times, Earendil's line had a guardian, and with his life, Glorfindel worked to pull the house of the Star through, heedless of his own problems and doubts. Somehow, it worked, and somehow, it was enough. The same soul would watch over the mortal line of the house, and would see the last hope of man through, watch him wield his first blade, watch him grow to adulthood, strengthen the line of kings, rise to the throne and finally fade away. But for a moment, that last hope was dormant, and it was also asleep in a warm bed, dreaming of glory for a kingdom far away that he did not know.  
  
  



	6. Hands of a Healer

::Hands of a Healer:: 

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

A/N: At the time of Bilbo's arrival at Rivendell during "The Hobbit", Estel would have been 10 years old. The line "the hands of the king are the hands of a healer" is taken from RotK, the line which Ioreth speaks while she blabbers to her cousin. Once again, my Glorfindel is reincarnated Glorfindel. 

Much thanks to people like Rhonda who encouraged me to keep writing! *hugs* 

* 

Estel watched Elladan and Elrohir walk down the corridor towards their rooms. The twins were similarly dressed that day, and it was almost impossible to tell one apart from the other. However, Estel knew the two enough to recognize that it was Elladan who stood to the left, and Elrohir to the right. The two had just come back from abroad, and were garbed in an outfit fit for a Ranger. Estel silently sat in his hidden corner, listening intently to his older brothers' conversations and trying to be stealthy. 

'Where is Estel? It is odd enough not for him to greet us today.' 

'I do not know. Maybe he is away with Ada or Glorfindel.' 

'Impossible. Ada is with Glorfindel in his study, discussing Bilbo.' 

There was a quiet chuckle from the one who may have been Elrohir. 

'That halfling is a dear creature. But he brings sad memories with him.' 

'Indeed. Did you see the look on Glorfindel's face?' 

Elrohir nodded absently, looking about as if to spot his younger foster brother somewhere, almost as if he knew he was being followed. Estel shrank further into the shadows. Elrohir shrugged and turned back to his brother. Elladan sighed. 

'It is almost as bad as when Ada has to send off another _dunedain_ fosterling. Arathorn's death was-' 

Elrohir immediately shushed his twin, eyes darting to and fro. 

'Do not speak of such matters here! We are probably being observed yet.' 

Elladan stopped walking, and Estel froze. His eldest brother turned. With bated breath, Estel waited to be discovered, but Elladan merely swung backwards again and moved away with Elrohir. Just as he was about to move, an amused voice floated over. 

'Do not try, Estel!' 

Estel sighed. He had been found out. The insatiable ten year old soon forgot about his game, though, and smiled happily as he ran to hug both Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan laughed and ruffled Estel's hair lightly, insides churning as he realized how close he had been to revealing a truth best kept silent. Elrohir hastily covered up. 

'You have improved your tracking skills much, little one! How are you this afternoon?' 

Estel shrugged, but glowed happily at the praise bestowed on him. 

'Glorfy is still talking to Ada, so I have nothing better to do than wait for them to finish. Glorfindel promised to relate to me some bits of the History of Numenor during lunch, so I have to wait.' 

Both twins smiled at the use of Glorfindel's nickname. Even though Estel was fully capable of pronouncing the balrog slayer's full name, he much preferred the use of the shorter "Glorfy". It made the elf more human, and less of the legend that he really was. The three brothers linked hands as they strolled into the twin's chambers. Estel sat on the bed as they changed. 

'_Gwanun_, what did you mean,' 

Elladan froze. 

'when you said "Did you see the look on Glorfindel's face"?' 

Estel's eyes were lost in a faraway look up, wondering what on Arda could make the ever cheerful Glorfindel grieve. Elrohir relaxed slightly, but sighed heavily, a sad look on his fair face. Elladan wordlessly changed. 

'That is a question you best ask Glorfindel himself, Estel.' 

* 

Glorfindel's shoulders were stooped slightly as he exited Elrond's study. The events of the last few days, though not life threatening nor involving him much, had had a great effect on the golden haired elf lord. The elf was struggling to keep his head up, trying as hard as possible to concentrate on the tasks set before him, but it was close to impossible. Teaching Estel, which was a task he usually enjoyed to no end, was becoming a encumbering chore as he was forced to put up a fake, smiling facade day after day. 

Elrond was almost to the point of seeing through him, but Glorfindel battled his emotions down and violently forced himself to keep up. It would not do to have the household worry, especially at such an important time in Estel's life. He was there to do as he was asked, to teach, to guide, and most importantly to be able to be depended on. The elf knew how much the family relied on him at times, and the burden was becoming increasingly heavy as the years passed. 

Estel was just starting on the more complex matters of the History of Numenor and of the Dunedain. It was a delicate subject, and Glorfindel knew that it would take all of his wits in order to make sure that Estel knew all that he had to, but not more than he should. It was a difficult job, seeing that the child would definitely want to know more about his own people. Teaching him about the line of Kings while keeping Gilraen out of the picture was a taxing task. If the elf did not keep his sense together, information might slip out, and all would be lost. 

Times, however, were not on Glorfindel's side. What Bilbo had brought to the Last Homely House now haunted his nightmares. The eldar was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice the small form of Estel approaching him until the boy tugged on his shirt sleeve. Immediately smiling to dispel any misconceptions Estel might have had, Glorfindel looked down. 

'Yes, Estel?' 

Estel looked up at Glorfindel. 

'You look tired, Glorfindel.' 

The elf smiled weakly. Of all people that could have noticed, it had to be Estel. But the boy always was extremely insightful character. 

'Bilbo's coming and going has stressed me greatly, little one. Having dwarves in the Last Homely House is not something I wish to repeat for a while.' 

Estel cocked his head, and firmly made his stand. Glorfindel wondered how an ten year old could command such authority upon a elf well over six thousand years old. 

'Elladan said that something about Bilbo troubled you, Glorfy.' 

The golden lord wanted to strangle the life out of Elladan. Steeling himself, he guided Estel to a seat in the gallery of the House. 

'It's a long story, Estel.' 

The boy only looked patiently up at him. Glorfindel sighed again. 

'Bilbo found a sword, Estel, two swords actually. Orcist and Glamdring. They came from long ago, and I thought them lost.' 

'Where did they come from?' 

'Gondolin.' 

The simple answer astounded Estel. Softly, he gushed, 

'But that was long ago.' 

A sad smile graced Glorfindel's face. 

'Aye. An age. Two ages. Orcist... Orcist was a renowned blade in my time, but who wielded it was of little importance. Glamdring, however...' 

'What about it, Glorfy?' 

'Glamdring. Glamdring belonged to the King. My King. Turgon, lord of the Gondolindrim. He fell in the sacking of the city.' 

Glorfindel could not believe himself. He was pouring his heart out to a child! But Estel remained quiet. Calm. Composed. Offering what innocent comfort he could. 

'Do you miss them, Glorfy?' 

'I miss belonging to my old people at times, I suppose. Yes.' 

'Just like Amme and I?' 

'That is different, Estel.' 

Estel nodded, accepting Glorfindel's answer, not knowing how close to the truth he actually spoke. Glorfindel smiled slightly, heart lighter. 

'But that was a time long ago, little one, and now I only belong in one place, and that is here, with you and your family, in Imladris.' 

Estel smiled, and his settled composure was gone and the exuberant child returned as Glorfindel lead them away from the bench and towards the dining room as the lunch bell rang. As Estel tugged on the elf's hand, he leant closer to Glorfindel and spoke of the pranks he had just committed on his brothers. Glorfindel laughed along with his young charge, and the heaviness in his heart was for a while forgotten. 

For the hands of the king are the hands of a healer. 


	7. Matters Long Past

::Matters Long Past:: 

Disclaimer: It is not mine, was not mine, and, most sadly, never will be mine. 

A/N: Hm. Time for a quick history canon lesson, so that everyone is well equipped for this and the following chapters-to-be. 

Third Age: 

109: Elrond and Celebrian wed.   
130: The Twins, Elladan and Elrohir, are born.   
141: Arwen is born.   
2509: Celebrian is waylaid at the Redhorn Pass on the way to Lorien.   
2510: Celebrian departs across the Sea.   
2931: Aragorn is born.   
2933: Aragorn is brought to Rivendell.   
2948: Theoden is born.   
2951: "Estel" is revealed as Aragorn, and meets Arwen. Aragorn departs into the Wild.   
2957: Aragorn goes to serve Thengel, father of Theoden, under the alias of Thorongil.   
3018-3019: War of the Ring, downfall of Sauron.   
3019: Aragorn marries Arwen.   
September 29th 3019: Departure of Elrond. 

That is about the bulk of important years that one needs to know. In this chapter, it is the year 2943, when Aragorn is 12 and one decade has passed since his arrival. Onwards! 

* 

Estel sat in the armoury with Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel. He had taken up working with the blade two years back, and was now sufficiently, and surprisingly, proficient in the ways of both sword and dagger. Of course, in the face of the likes of Glorfindel, who had millennia upon millennia of experience compared to his two years, he still appeared quite silly. However, the talent was evident in him, and the twins and his tutor delighted in teaching their eager student. The four were about to depart for the sword and archery ranges after Glorfindel finished his almost endless stocktaking. 

However, today was turning out to be rather dull. It was the peak of summer, and the valley felt akin to a chicken being slow roasted over a fire. Estel had his collar open, and was lethargically attempting, and failing, to efficiently sharpen his birthday gift, a short sword. Needless to say, the weather and incessant sounds of a slow summer afternoon was slowly sending him off the edges of awareness and into a blissful, blank frame of mind as he stared out of the window. Elladan and Elrohir, too, were mentally absent, eyes almost glazed over in elven sleep as they leaned against the counter and tried vainly to disguise yawns. Glorfindel, old, aged, ancient Glorfindel, was somehow managing to dutifully take inventory of the endless armoury. 

It was only when Elrohir nearly impaled himself upon the blonde's stack of spare quills did the reborn balrog slayer stop his work and stare at the three very bored brothers. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at them. 

'The day cannot be _that_ mundane.' 

Elladan did not even bother to try and correct his former tutor. Elrohir glared at Glorfindel through sleepy eyes. 

'In my 2800 years of experience, I will _never, ever_ figure out how Father, Erestor and you manage to work through this, this-' Elrohir made a hopeless hand action at the pile of parchment on the blonde's table, 'Nonsense.' 

Glorfindel sent the younger twin a mock glare. 

'This "nonsense" is what keeps the valley running.' 

Lacking the patience of his older foster brothers, Estel moaned as he tried not to fall into slumber. 

'I cannot see for the life of me _why_ Imladris cannot keep running without knowing how many arrows we have in inventory.' 

Glorfindel marked off another bunch of 20. 

'Come time of war, these inventories will be useful.' 

Elladan piped up. 

'Come time of war, these _arrows_ will be useful.' 

Estel snorted, twirling a broken quill between his fingers. Looking up, he leaned over the table to stare at the reports. 

'Are you done yet? I'm going to die before we get to the range, if you keep going.' 

Glorfindel pointedly ignored his young charge. Estel buried his face in his hands and turned back to his brothers. Elrohir was leaning against the wall, his bow, unstrung, next to him. Elladan was experimentally testing the balance of a new sword, swinging it back and forth with the air of someone who knew what he was doing. Estel reverently stroked the intricate design of the younger twin's bow. The tengwar equivalent of Elrohir's name was etched onto the dark wood, standing out beautifully next to other various engravings. Gushing softly, Estel looked up at his brother. 

'What is it like?' 

Elrohir, jolted awake, looked down. 

'What?' 

Estel traced the cravings with a finger and shrugged. 

'What is it like to be out there? In the Wild? Actually putting yourselves against orcs. Working against the forces of evil.' 

Elrohir shot a look at his older brother. Elladan stopped tossing the weapon about and walked over. The twins were silent for a while. Elrohir took his own sword in hand and looked at it. 

'It... is difficult to describe, Estel. It's dangerous in many ways.' 

Estel waved a dismissive hand in the air. 

'I know that it is dangerous. It is not as if Ada does not preach that fact to me every breathing moment I go near anything sharp. But what is it _really_ like? What does it feel like, beyond the danger?' 

_The child is far too perceptive._ Elrohir shuffled about uneasily. 

'There... is a sort of dread thrill, I suppose. Like fire, yet also like ice. It's difficult, different for us, Estel.' 

The child nodded sadly. 

'Your _naneth?_' 

Elladan swallowed and looked away. Estel sighed. 

'I know.' 

Two simple words, but there was deep meaning behind them. Gilraen might still be alive, but Estel never knew the real name, nor identity of his biological father. Neither did he know the real reason why. Elladan turned and gave Estel a soft, sorrowful smile. 

'Dangerous in two ways, Estel. Dangerous for the physical risks that we undertake, but also dangerous for the addiction. The bloodlust, the need to end life. Something we all are too conscious of, straying so far from home, and so often. The fear of never seeing those you love again, and the same fear that if you don't work against evil, that those you love might be taken away from you.' 

Elrohir sighed. 

'It is not a fate that we would wish upon anybody.' 

Estel nodded quietly. 

'But it has been so long for you.' 

The twins both shrugged. 

'Some wounds take longer to heal than others,' Elladan said, 'and some do not heal at all.' 

Their younger brother perched on a stool, silent for a moment. 

'But Celebrian lives still, healed, in the West.' 

The Twins inclined their heads; it was true. Their mother waited for them across the Sea. Estel went on. 

'You will see her again, eventually. But it's different for humans. It's more difficult.' 

He fell oddly silent. No one knew what happened to Man, once they passed beyond the Circles of the World. That was Illuvatar's own to answer. Glorfindel stopped writing and looked at him. 

'Do not worry so much about death and war now, Estel. It is far for you yet. And do not believe that death for the _edain_ is a curse. It is true that no one knows, but from personal experience, it cannot be very much worse than rebirth for elves. It is called the Gift of Illuvatar for a reason.' 

Estel grinned slightly, cheering up. His moods were never overly sullen, as if there was a light about him that chased dark thoughts away, a resilience born of hope. Estel. 

'I suppose. So are you done now, Glor?' 

The elf stood, stretching, and reached for the long elven blade that lay on the table. 

'Yes, yes, let us go. I will enjoy wiping the floor with Elladan after all this paper.' 

Dark mood instantly dispelled, Elladan snorted and snatched up his own weapon, springing to life and bounding out of the door in a manner most unfit for a 2800 year old son of Elrond, with Elrohir and Estel following at a more sedate pace. And for a long while after, the Twins were happier, more youthful, as if a part of their long burden of hunting and killing had been lifted from their backs. So in more quiet ways, Estel worked his subtle magic on the inhabitants of Imladris. 

And Glorfindel did, eventually, beat Elladan around the training grounds. 


End file.
